Kinky Friedman The Ballad of ira Hayes Lyrics:
(Peter LaFarge)

Gather round me people and a story I will tell
'Bout a brave young Indian lad, you should
remember well, From a tribe of Pima Indians, a
proud and peaceful band Who farmed the Phoenix
Valley out in Arizona land.

Down their ditches for a thousand years the
sparkling water rushed Till the white man stole
the water rights and the running water hushed.
Ira's folks was hungry, their fields grew thick
with weeds, But when war came Ira volunteered and
forgot the white man's greed.

Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore, Not that whiskey drinking Indian or
Marine who went to war.

Well, they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, two hundred
and fifty men But only twenty-seven lived to walk
back down again. And after the fight was over and
Old Glory proudly raised, Among the men who held
her high was an Indian, Ira Hayes.
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Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore, Not that whiskey drinking Indian or
Marine who went to war.

Well, Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated
throughout the land, He was wined and speeched and
honored, everybody shook his hand. But he's just
a Pima Indian, no food, no friend, no chance, And
nobody cared what Ira did and when do the Indians
dance.

Well, Ira took to drinking hard, jail often was
his home, They used to let him raise the flag
there and lower it just like you'd throw a dog a
bone. And Ira died drunk early one morning all
alone in the land he'd fought to save. Two
inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave
for Ira Hayes.

Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore, Not that whiskey drinking Indian or
Marine who went to war.

Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, but his land is
till as dry And his ghost, well, that's lying
thirsty in the ditch where Ira died.

Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore, Not that whiskey drinking Indian or
Marine who went to war.
Lyrics: The Ballad of ira Hayes, Kinky Friedman [end]